


what's the opposite of a fix-it fic? newsies but someone does die!

by thejokerghost



Series: The Adventures of a Newsie and his Guardian Gamin [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, Crossover, Gen, Non-Canonical Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26151796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejokerghost/pseuds/thejokerghost
Summary: Les dies during the strike and is greeted by another face.please don't read thisthe title is so bad omg
Relationships: Les Jacobs & Gavroche Thénardier
Series: The Adventures of a Newsie and his Guardian Gamin [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901593
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	what's the opposite of a fix-it fic? newsies but someone does die!

**Author's Note:**

> so i wrote this a while ago, but it was extremely short and dumb, so i only let my friends read it
> 
> then i found it again and posted on my [Tumblr,](https://uncreativepieceofmusicaltrash.tumblr.com/) "so i once wrote a short fic that i never shared with the world, and i found it again and i kid you not it begins with Les dying" and someone reblogged it with "please no" so i just had to post it

The last thing Les knew was that his brother, his great big brother Davey was holding him, yelling, sobbing, then screaming, “Les! Les! Les, no! Les, you can’t! Please!” 

For a second, everything was black. 

He opened his eyes and stood up, his body remaining in the same spot. Davey’s screams and the rest of the noise around them was muffled. Les watched helplessly as his brother clutched his body, Race grabbing him and trying to pull him away. Davey refused, but Race kept his grip on his shoulder. 

“Davey!” Les tried calling, “Davey, I- Davey, I’m here! I’m right here!” He blinked back the tears in his eyes as his brother picked up his body and took off with Race for cover. 

“Davey...” Les mumbled, his throat dry, the first tear escaping from his eye. It trickled down his cheek and fell to the blood-stained pavement. He looked up and tried, “Smalls? Jojo!” He stepped in the direction of Buttons, who was in a brawl with Mush and several cops. “Guys?” 

“It’s no use, kid.” said a voice. Les turned around and saw a boy, a boy not much older than himself. 

He was maybe eleven or twelve, dressed in rags and a cap. There were bullet holes in his shirt, making Les wonder if he had been shot, but he saw no wounds or scars. The boy looked at the newsies with pity in his eyes. 

“Who are you?” Les asked him. 

The boy either did not hear him, or ignored the question. “You can’t talk to them.” he said with a somber tone. “Believe me, I’ve tried.” 

“But what about Dave?” said Les, “And Jack? What would they do without me? When will I see them again?” 

“When they die.” the boy replied. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, kid, but, you’re dead.” He added this with a slight chuckle, then a sigh. “Follow me.” So, Les followed the boy down the street, passing the newsies getting beaten by the police and Pulitzer’s goons. 

“It’s terrible.” the boy said. “They’re too young. You’re too young.” He reached his hand out to Romeo, who had gotten into a fist fight with Oscar Delancey. They passed his hand like he was a ghost, which he was. 

“A lot of them are older than you.” Les pointed out bitterly. He wiped the tears from his eyes in spite. 

The boy actually looked amused. “I was an exception. But I fought with adults.” 

“How old are you anyways?” 

“Well, I died when I was twelve, but technically, I’d be...” The boy stood still to count his fingers. “79. And you?” 

“Ten. Almos-” Les stopped, his throat seeming to be caught on something. “Nine-and-a-half.” he admitted as he looked at his feet. 

The boy put his hand on Les’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, kid. Don’t worry. We’re almost there.” 

Les felt another surge of tears in his eyes as he threw his arms around the boy, sobbing as his brother had been. The boy held still and patted Les’s back. Les hated crying. He hated feeling vulnerable. He let go of the boy abruptly and they continued walking. 

They turned at the end of the street, and it seemed as though they left Manhattan entirely. They walked down the beaten trail of a small town. Les began seeing different faces- boys and girls all aged from about six to twenty, smiling warily at them. 

“City of Young Heroes.” the boy explained. “Killed for a specific reason, yet no reason at all.” 

Les let the boy’s words sink in. He tried waving at the children, all of those who had been doing what they thought was right and killed because of it. He tried to smile, but fell short. 

“Who are you?” he asked the boy again. 

The boy hesitated. “I’m Gavroche.” he replied finally. “Gavroche Thénardier. I was killed in the June Rebellion, 1832, Paris, France.” 

Les looked at the boy with a new respect. A rebellion was revolution, was it not? And a revolution was when people stood up for what they believed was right against someone who was powerful. Like a strike. The boy, like him, was another David who had fought against a Goliath. 

“Where are you taking me?” 

“We’re meeting a very important person.” 

Gavroche took Les into a building at the end of the street, reminding him slightly of the lodge house. Upon entering, Les indeed saw another guy: a curly-haired, freckled boy who looked about nineteen playing the piano. He stopped what he was doing as Gavroche and Les entered. 

“Mr. Hamilton,” said Gavroche, “This is Les Jacobs, and I think you’ll like him.” 


End file.
